


Date Night

by Davechicken



Series: The Pilot and his Knight [3]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-24
Updated: 2016-02-24
Packaged: 2018-05-23 00:12:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6098494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompts: Romantic night between Kylo and Poe. Poe planned things, but he can't keep his hands for himself and spends his time teasing him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Date Night

Poe likes dates. Even if they spend most of their nights switching between hard, rough fucking and soft, tender love-making… he loves dates. He loves watching the tall, imposing man half the base is still terrified of… flushing at the gentle gestures, his cheeks stained pink and his eyes dark with confused emotion. Loves the way he carefully blossoms under the attention and care, the man he _used_ to be still there, under it all.

He can’t help but wonder what things would have been like, without Snoke. The flashes of _who he’d been_ that came through in moments like this… would Kylo - would **Ben** \- have initiated more? Or would he still have been awkwardly, painfully shy about affairs of the heart?

Dating is almost more emotionally painful than being pinned down and fucked raw for him. At least then, Kylo seems to sell it to himself as _animal need_. But there’s no animal need in Poe coming home with flowers behind his back, and holding them out to his boyfriend. No base instinct involved in candlelight, or hands held, and dancing to low music. No, that’s something else entirely. Just like it’s something else when they fall asleep together on the couch, watching a holo. When their arms and legs wrap together, and their breathing falls into sync, and the whole galaxy fades away leaving just them. Just them.

Poe is a traditionalist, at times, and he’s proud of that. And Kylo’s heart always flutters when he presents him with gifts, so he clearly enjoys it, too. Even if it’s something as simple as candy he picked up on his travels, or socks with ridiculous things on them. Kylo refuses to wear the socks, but they all sit in his drawer, all the same. Poe likes to think Kylo finds the slogans as amusing as he does. He always keeps them, after all. Their quarters are becoming cluttered with ridiculous trinkets and _I saw this and thought of you_ s. Kylo finds less things, but he’s started to get more confident in returning the favour.

There’s food cooking, and Kylo lingers in the doorway, his teeth pressing into his lip in that oh so fucking adorable way he has, and Poe just wants to run his tongue in the divot left behind. Wants to pull him down for–

“…is it supposed to splash that much?”

Oh, right. He curses, and turns the hob down, and puts the spoon over the pan. “Yep. Part of the process,” he lies, and then grins up at him.

“I bow to your culinary expertise,” Kylo says, a tiny dip of his head. He does deadpan so very, very well. So does Poe, at times. People who don’t know them well enough miss out on fifteen layers of conversation between them, but Poe doesn’t care.

There are certain things _only_ Kylo is meant to hear.

“You hungry?” Poe asks.

“Always.”

Kylo stays where he is, and Poe turns to hold his hands out. He waits, and cocks his head when Kylo doesn’t move straight off. 

“Good. Because I have made _such_ a big dish.”

“Poe… anyone would think you’re compensating.”

Poe actually laughs, and yanks Kylo by the hands until they’re chest-to-chest. “You know I’m not.” He might not have Kylo’s - ahem - _height_ , but Poe is anything but lacking. 

Kylo drops his forehead to touch Poe’s, and their hair slides against the other’s, and Poe just can’t resist any more. He writes over that space where Kylo’s teeth had been with his own, plucking the lip away from his mouth, running his tongue over and over and letting a little possessive _purrgrowl_ escape. Kylo gasps gently, and it goes through him like a fire through dry wood. Poe lets go of his hands, and reaches around to grab that expanse of black-clad tight-ass and shoves a thigh between his, grinding into his groin and rutting against his leg like a dog in heat.

“Poe…” 

Not that Kylo can say much with Poe biting his lip to hell and back. Hands free, his Knight has fingers in his hair, holding him in place against his face. Fingers that know where to press, and Poe just takes his mouth. He knows he should be behaving, knows he’s supposed to be _spoiling_ him rotten, but he just tastes so much better than dinner ever will. His tongue fucks his mouth, over and over, hands prising his cheeks apart with a promise and a threat in one, and Kylo suddenly grabs Poe’s ass, too.

Grabs it, and lifts him, and Poe has to shift his grip to Kylo’s shoulders. Arms locked around, and fingers coiling in those dark locks. He trusts him utterly as Kylo carries him to the mostly cleared table-top.

Forks and knives and placemats are shoved away, and then Kylo sits on the edge of the table and drops Poe back onto his feet.

Okay. Not that Poe minds who tops, but if Kylo wants fucking, he’s more than happy to oblige. His lover lifts both legs, wrapping them around Poe’s waist, and they carry on kissing. These kisses go further, wandering over the corners of mouths, over jawlines, punctuated with words of love and nips of teeth and between them they manage to slide clothing apart enough. Not off, because that requires too much effort, **just to one side**.

Both of them have taken to carrying… supplies. Knowing that at any minute they might well need to consummate. After about the third time when they got caught short, and tried to fuck without any real lube and just the Force, they admitted defeat because it did just sting a little bit too much. And unless one or both of them needs it to hurt, then they act more sensibly, now.

Like how Kylo’s hands find Poe’s little bottle of lube and between them (wordless communication), Poe has his fingers coated and in him to the knuckle before he has any right to. Kylo - once he got used to it - became a really damn good bottom. Poe likes it every which way, but he knows Kylo’s never had another lover, and so it always feels more special to him when he’s inside of him. He knows Kylo would never let anyone else spear him open, or watch his eyes as he clutches at their arms and fucks down onto that hand, wanting more.

Poe sometimes wishes he’d waited, too. He’d had fun, before. Oh yes. But there’s _fun_ , and then there’s _making love to someone you want to make so happy you’d do anything they needed_. It’s like eating a ration pack when you’re going weak from starvation, compared to the full, rich, five-course meal that makes your insides happy and you know has satisfied every mineral and dietary need your body has.

Kylo fucks his fingers like a man demented. He rides his hand like a pilot chasing through the skies, and Poe loves to watch his face when he does this. It’s not just being fucked. It really isn’t. Kylo offers _himself_ every time, and it’s as precious a gift as anything he could ever have. He curls his fingers inside him, knowing how to make him _need_ , and then he has his cock in his hand instead.

“Please.” That, when he doesn’t give it to him, not at once. The blunt, fat head pressed against his slick, wanting hole. “Please, Poe!”

“Just a moment.” Because he wants to savour this, this gift. Poe could never give him anything that meant a fraction of this, even if he gave him the universe. He couldn’t ever do anything so romantic as offer his broken, loving self up. But he can try. He can give all of _him_ , too. He smiles, his heart breaking in two even as it thuds his cock fuller. Even as he starts that slowslowohsoslow push in. “Fuck. I love you.”

Kylo’s hands claw at his clothing, and he shakes as he tries to use ankles in the small of his back to get him in _deeper_. “Please! Please, Poe. I need it. I need you. I **need** you.”

And he does, but Poe needs him, too. Hand on the small of his back, keeping him from sliding away. A laugh in his heart that feels like _agony_ , and he reams him as hard as he can. He knows Kylo _needs_ that edge of pain, just to make it mean. Knows that the sting is like an absolution to his aching soul, and knows it means love to him as surely as the pleasure does.

“I love you,” Poe says again, and the hand on his lover’s thigh is so hard into flesh that it must ache. It must. He can feel the pulse against the bones in his fingers, and he isn’t sure whose pulse it is. He takes him as hard and hard and hard as he can, and there’s a sob from below, and Poe waits until Kylo’s body is an _agony_ to enter, until he can all but feel the _need_ to come in the way he tightens and clenches and whispers dark love songs in his ear. He waits until Kylo’s telling him he hates him, hates him so much. Hates how perfect he is, hates how he makes him feel, hates how beautiful and kind and smart and brave he is. How he’s everything the galaxy needs, and Poe knows every hate is really _love_ and he grabs hold of Kylo’s cock.

He always tries to make sure Kylo comes first, and Kylo always fights him. He knows his lover doesn’t think he deserves the release, and he knows, too, that Kylo wants Poe happier than he wants himself. It’s why the best of all is when they time it just right, and he thinks he can do it, today.

A shift of angle, and he’s slamming into that spot that makes Kylo SCREAM and he’s fisting his cock with eye-blurring speed, and he’s tensing around him and oh god oh god the sounds he makes and Poe howls Kylo’s name, his name, and his love and Poe feels his lover _s h a t t e r_ in bliss, in painful, glorious bliss. Feels him tense and spill, and love and love and love and he’s coming, too. Coming in thick, rough spurts that fill him up inside, that mark their skin as _belonging to the other_ , as they sign the pact of their union again and forever.

And… for a while… _everything else stops_.

And Poe doesn’t care at all.


End file.
